


Never Again

by RebelGeneral



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:16:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelGeneral/pseuds/RebelGeneral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disillusioned with her father's distant behavior, Eleanor runs off to the beach for some quiet reflection when she stumbles upon Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Hush now, this isn't the first time,_ she reminded herself, as she stormed out of the Guthrie office. She mustn't let those tears flow for him. He will never have any right over them like that. But she was still a girl, and stifled sobs escaped despite her mind raging and reprimanding her to take a hold of herself. _No one must see_ , she glanced around fervently, _not when I'm like this_.

She brushed past Mr Scott on her way out, the man calling after her, but she paid him no mind, already noting that knowing her antics well, he must already have guessed what had transpired. After all, he's run after her countless times before, wiped away those tears and whispered soothing words.

Now was not the time to listen to him, to be reminded yet again of how her father still loved her, cared for her. _Did she really seem that blind to him?_ That she would still believe this concocted lie he'd been feeding her since she was a child? She was much too old to put faith in those words now. Life had given her a dose of this harsh reality one times too many. If she didn't learn now, she never would. And she'll be damned if she set herself up for yet another disappointment.

There was a certain comfort in how her bare feet sunk in the sand as she ran to the beach. The wind flowing and grasping at her long, golden hair, wild strands whipping at her face, soon wiping away all trace of remnant tears. _Like it never happened_. It always started like this, she recalled. Her riled up in hot tears, running off. But soon after, the tears would be gone, leaving only a burning rage behind. She had been stuck in this endless loop for years, this feeling all too familiar. This time, it came with a silent resolve to not let this rage simply evaporate, but to nourish it and let it grow. _Maybe_ , she thought, _it will serve as cold reminder of what never to expect_.

She bumped past strangers, searching frantically for a path that wouldn't lead to her discovery. It was only a matter of time before Mr Scott would find her, but this time she was determined not to make it too easy. Instead of going to her usual spot, she decided to head in the opposite direction, the isolated part of the beach, where the streets were emptier and the camps far off. Where nobody could recognize her and direct him to her. She pictured the look of worry on Mr Scott's face and for a second, smirked. _Perhaps he would send news to father of my disappearance_ , she thought. Perhaps her old man would finally have cause to rejoice and bend those thin lips of his into a satisfied smile. At least, for once, she'd make him smile for her. This is what he wants, isn't it?

Lost in her thoughts, she finally reached a spot that seemed fit. No more strange looks from these ignoble beings which the other side of the beach was swarming with, no more jeering or shouting. It was quiet, with just the sounds of the waves crashing onto the sand and plucking at her toes, a slight breeze caressing her cheeks. An empty skiff lay not far from where she stood. She crawled into it and settled, thinking of how foolish she had been not to come here before. It was perfect.

She lay down on the hard wood and despite better judgment her mind reeled back to recounting what had happened. _I was only eavesdropping on his fucking meeting_ , she frowned. It was a habit of hers by now, she wanted to see the man her father was outside of the looks he spared for her, to really see the man behind the mask, how he was with the rest of the world when she was not present. Today, she had witnessed him deep in conversation with a young man. Tall, graceful, with hair tied in a pony tail and a manner of speaking unlike the rest of the foul men she'd often seen her father with. This one wasn't a pirate, at least he didn't seem to be. Although his clothes certainly were, so were his weapons, and there was an older, balding man with an intricate tattoo on the back of his neck standing beside him. She's never seen her father deal so respectfully with any of them before, he always left such matters to Mr Scott if he could help it. He rather preferred his rich, posh clients instead, with whom he'd sip tea and chatter about politics.

Her father excused himself when he saw her peeping eyes from the corridor, only to roughly grab her hand and take her to the other room and remind her that he would not have her listening in again. It wasn't his words that hurt, it was his tone, his cold eyes that had nothing but indifference in them when he looked at her. _Why couldn't he see that she could help him? Learn about what he did? Talk to these men sitting right beside him?_ She'd be careful to hold her tongue, she had promised him so many times she would. But he'd either not bother to answer or just walk out of the room, sometimes not even glancing at her for days on end. This time too, it wasn't his words that stung, it was the look of pure revulsion in which he regarded her, as though she was a nuisance, a burden he was forced to carry and a hard one to manage at that.

As much as she craved these moments alone with her father, she also dreaded them. They only made her realize her true worth to him all the more. She wondered if curiosity accounted for her actions or was it just so she could have him look at her again, even if it was with disdain. Surely, anything was better than nothing?

Her heart lurched, feeling of self loathing rising inside her. Here she was thinking about him, when he must have forgotten about her the instant he'd left her crying in that room. _He probably didn't even see me leave_ , she huffed. Why would he?

Let this be my last lesson, she repeated to herself over and over. Never again...

" _You're in my skiff_ ," a voice growled over her.

Startled, she sat up and noticed a boy peering down at her.

_Him_ , she reflected. She'd seen this one before.

A face in the crowd when she'd run to the beach a few weeks ago, in a manner quite similar to her current predicament. She'd found herself in the pirate camps, not caring if her legs took her to the most dangerous corners of this place, rather wishing it.

She had soon became aware of a steady pair of eyes among all those formidable faces, looking at her intently. Unflinching, she'd stared right back, matching his intense gaze, shooting him a smile in the hopes of unnerving him, of showing him who between them was untouchable. Instead of looking away and going about his business, the boy had smirked right back, his blue eyes piercing into her in approval and obvious amusement. Taken aback, she'd scoffed and marched off in defiance, slightly dismayed at not having had the effect she'd planned and rather, being challenged herself. It didn't come as a surprise that she'd remember this trivial moment, she never forgot a slight, especially if it involved her not being taken seriously.

" _What of it?_ ," she snarled back at him, refusing to let him gain the upper hand this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor's confrontation with Vane ends up having a dangerous and exciting outcome.

He glowered at her, eyes slit-like as if studying her every move. Not much time had passed since she'd last laid eyes upon him, but he seemed different. More rugged, more menacing somehow. Perhaps it was the fact that she now alone with him, without the familiar hustle and chatter of the marketplace, of others around her willing to come to her side if the situation demanded. Back then, gawking at each other had been a game, a tease of sorts. Now, with his looming height towering above her, she was forced to consider the danger of this confrontation. His hands were clenched making every vein in his arms pop out, his breathing audibly shallow and hard, clearly attempting to suppress the frustration building up inside. 

"See that big ship over there?" the boy leered, pointing towards one massive specimen anchored in the bay, it's masts a glorious silhouette against the twilight. "Mine's the next watch. Seeing as you've made yourself quite comfortable in my means of transport, that creates an issue."

He bent over, eyes at her level, his voice low and threatening, "So are you getting off or not?"

His ultimatum should have alarmed her, no doubt. Yet there was a mellifluous tinge to his voice, both attractive and slightly unnerving.

She let out an exasperated huff, she didn't have time for this. She claimed this place, it was hers, and she needed to be left alone.

" _Not_ ," she stressed, "and if you knew who I was, you'd be wise enough to search elsewhere for another skiff. Plenty of them around, aren't they?" With that she rolled her eyes and plopped herself back down, waiting for him to go away.

And for a moment, she actually thought he did.

Before the ground beneath her suddenly started to move. The wooden floor creaked with friction as she heard the sand move against it. There was a sudden jolt and water splashed all over her as the skiff crashed against an incoming wave. She tried to grab at something, anything, but her hands slipped from the wet wood making her roll to the side, almost hitting her head against the hard board.

She heard a thud and there he was, oars in hand, sitting right across from her, a satisfied smirk plastered on his face. He moved his arms skillfully against the splashing sea, and soon enough, the ground felt lighter, the water carrying the skiff far from shore.

Gasping and half drenched, she shouted, " _What the fuck did you do!_ "

Glancing around frantically, she noticed the skiff was a couple of yards from shore already, the wind and oars working together to stretch distance. Too late to jump now, she grimaced.

"Are you fucking mad? You could have asked me again, you know! Nicely, even?!" she yelled at him through gritted teeth, her anger mounting.

All that rage that was pent up inside her, because of her father, because of what happened at the office, threatened to spill over on this boy. He had chosen the wrong time and the wrong person to fuck with.

"I don't like repeating myself," the boy shrugged, a grin still hovering.

He seemed so nonchalant, unfazed by her glares and meeting her eyes not with apology but amusement.

Decision springing to mind, she made a brisk move to jump at the oars, except the boy was too quick. He blocked her with a slight shove from his shoulders, causing her to leap back and almost hit herself on the side again. His grin spread even wider.

"What do you suppose happens if you manage to get these from me?" he mused, "Are you assuming you could row all the way back yourself using _those_ arms," he tilted his head towards her slender limbs, "Or that somehow I'd just sit here and wait patiently for you to take us back?" He shook his head, eyebrows raised.

She met his mocking with a fierce scowl. "I've been on boats before, this isn't my first time, in case you're wondering. I think I can manage just fine if I push you into the sea first."

"That must be tempting. Although, " the corners of his mouth twitched again, "I think you just tried."

She had to agree, she did try grabbing those oars and pushing him off balance, but both had failed. Even though his arms were at the oars, the smug bastard had good reflexes. Seemed he had anticipated her move even before the thought had crossed her mind. If this wasn't her first time on a boat, it must be his thousandth. He was a pirate, was he not? What else could he be? Jaw clenching, she presumed when it came to taking control on a boat, his skills far outweighed hers.

Despite her odds, she wasn't about to beg him to take her back. Threatening him wasn't going to work either, she admitted in dismay. He seemed much too stubborn.

This was what she hated the most. To be in a situation without control. With a strange boy who refused to acknowledge her demands and who, it seemed, was rather enjoying her frustration. He knew she had no choice but to let him row, and her mind was already drawing colorful images of how she would make him pay.

"Have it your way then," she replied, "But sooner or later you are going to be on shore again and when that happens, you'll be sure to hear from my father about what you did, and, " she added sneering, "it's consequences."

"Consequences?" he asked, that mocking undertone refusing to leave his voice, "And what might that be?"

"Deposition from your crew, if my father threatens to refuse to sell your crew's cargo." A smile creeping up her face, she added, "who knows, if your crew mates hear of this, they might just punish you for us."

"Won't be the first time," he shrugged, "You're that old bastard's daughter, then?"

"Of course I am! Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had no idea who I was?"

_He's lying, of course_ , she thought. Everyone on the island had seen her, and even though she would never voice it out loud, HE had seen her too. Made damn sure she never forgot about it either. His nerve to think that she could be taken for a fool and be guiled into this lie. Perhaps, he meant to fall back on that, in case he actually did get into trouble. Feign innocence of not knowing who she was when the consequences of his actions caught up with him. Well he's only fooling himself if he thinks I'll ever allow him to get away, she fumed.

"To be honest, the scrubbed face, clean hair and clothes add up alright. But what's curious is how our noble and proper future governor takes to that sharp tongue of yours," he smirked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, "Or is it solely for my benefit?"

"If he was so proper himself, he wouldn't be dealing with types such as yourself," she retorted.

"Such a high an opinion of him, I see," he chuckled, "Finally something we agree upon, although I doubt if we share the same reasons."

She didn't care what his reasons were. All she wanted was to wipe that smirk off his face for good. She matched his smirk with an unflinching glare, conveying all too well that she wasn't bothered by his issues with her father, that she was indifferent.

_What exactly did he wish to accomplish from this?_   _Did he even have a plan?_

Each moment the skiff drew closer to the ship, her heart started racing faster against her will. Were there more men on deck? More pirates who had a score to settle with her father? Had reasons like this boy did? Seeing her would probably be a welcome sight for them, and her mind ran various scenarios of an outcome that didn't end up with her at their mercy. At this distance, all her cries for help would go unnoticed, and perhaps, her father would find her body days later in the water. The disappearance she had previously planned might end up becoming a permanent one.

She won't cringe for any of them, she decided. As long as she put up a demeanor of fearlessness and authority, they'd be forced to think twice before attempting anything. She'd learned as much having spent some years on the island by now. It's all an act, but believe it well enough, and you can intimidate almost anyone. In her case, though, the act came a little too easily, honed to such perfection that it was a part of her now, something that crept up naturally whenever in the presence of Nassau's dwellers.

Sitting more upright than before, she gulped down all her apprehension, "We're almost at your ship. What do you think happens next when your crew members discover you brought me along?"

"Didn't think so far ahead," he winked at her, "But if you're _scared_ that -"

"-I'm not scared," she cut him off, "Just wondering how exactly this is going to work out, in case I need to add even more scums to my story of whoever needs to be banished from the island."

"Sorry to disappoint you, in that case," he laughed, "but most of the crew is on shore. Three men up on deck if I'm not mistaken, I'm relieving one of his watch after which they'll do as they please. Take this skiff and go to shore, or spend the night in the hull."

"So that's it? You're the only one they're leaving in charge of to look after the ship?" she asked, shocked.

"Well some of them usually sleep on board, but most decided to stay on shore tonight. This just means the ones up on deck will likely stay but who knows. " he added, "Captain didn't give any specific orders."

"As for you," he pointed out, the flashing grin returning, "It's up to you really. Stay in the skiff and hope the men don't find you or," he paused, enjoyment clearly reflected on his rugged features, "you can come with me."

"You call this a choice?" she retorted angrily.

If she had something to throw at him, she would. She cursed herself for escaping to the opposite side of the fucking beach tonight, she cursed that she picked his fucking skiff, she cursed that she couldn't swim all the way back, but above all she cursed that smug look on his face. It was maddening. She was used to riling people up because of her actions and words, not the other way around, yet somehow this boy had managed to hit every single nerve within a few moments. Nothing about her seemed to make him take her seriously. She didn't know what else she could do but let him play his little game. He was winning again and the burden of this realization settled deeply within her, poking her rage to the extreme. She was anything but graceful in defeat.

I'll make him suffer for this soon enough, she decided. But now was the time for quick thinking and getting herself out of this mess. All the rest that mattered to her right now, the fuming rage, the indignation, can be quenched later.

"Ever seen Nassau from a crow's nest before?" the boy interrupted her thoughts, "Don't imagine it's the same view from your palace."

"So?" she raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. "What does it matter if I've seen it or not."

"I can show you," he said, voice slightly lower, gentler, "Might make this trip worth your while, even."

She scoffed, "I highly doubt that."

He almost made it seem like this offer was genuine, with eyes searching hers, bracing for refusal any second.

"Well you'll never find out if you don't live it," he gestured to main mast, the crow's nest hanging precariously at an angle and height that made her stomach squirm, "I'm heading there once I board. If you want -" he paused, the same uncertain look crossing his features, "I can take you with me."

"It's either that or suffer the company of your crew mates, isn't it?" she squinted her eyes at him, making sure he understood none of this was anything but a loathsome option for her, "Seeing as you got me into this situation, I'd rather make you miserable instead."

"Not like you left me a choice," he retaliated, "You stole my skiff, remember? Then went on about how you owned the place, acting all high and mighty, " his voice quivering with that familiar ring of amusement, "Seemed like a good idea at that time. Still does actually."

Stealing! As if that skiff was worth anything to her. All she did was ask him to go away, which by some miracle had managed to provoke him.

"If you're looking for an apology, you're not going to get one," she took on her superior tone, one meant to subdue.

"I know," he smiled, eyes glimmering teasingly, "Can't imagine if you've ever done it before."

She rolled her eyes at him, seemed like she'd been resorting to that a lot since leaving the beach. It was true. She had, to this day, never apologized for anything. With Mr Scott, she used little things, small gestures, that would pacify him and make him smile again when she occasionally crossed him. Not that he was hard to please either. He was not the problem, her father however, was a different story entirely. A quiet defiance had kept her from uttering these words to him as well. Afterall, how could any words from her bridge the distance between them anyway? She had decided, a long time ago, to neither offer nor seek forgiveness. This hardened shell comforted her, soothed her. For if she never apologized to her father, she would never expect the same from him. That is how it was and that is how she meant to keep it.

Seemed like this boy wasn't any different. Words be damned, nothing in his look or treatment of her suggested a hint of apology. If anything, he appeared rather pleased and entertained at her expense.

"Almost there," the boy turned the skiff until it bobbed alongside the massive hull. He drew the oars from the water and set them inside, casually moving over to secure the skiff to the ship.

He gestured to the rope ladder, "Now would be a good time to tell me what you want. Sulk here and wait, or do something you've never done before."

She didn't know when she had decided, but she had. Perhaps she had made her choice somewhere in the middle of their trip or perhaps it was what he said just then that sealed the deal. Whatever the reason, she immediately got up and grabbed the ladder without hesitation. If he was testing her, she wasn't one to back down from a challenge, least of all to him.

"I expected nothing less," he skimmed her over, clearly impressed, "But you need to follow me and do as I say exactly, unless you want any of my men to catch you." Reaching over, his hands brushed lightly across hers as he took the rope from her, "I'll go first. As soon as I'm inside the crew cabin, I'll signal for you to climb in. _Don't_ ," he stressed, "enter before I make sure the coast is clear."

She nodded and saw him climb up, swiftly and without sound. He made the feat seem so easy, effortless. How hard could it be? Compared to laboring under the irksome lessons from her governess, this should be a piece of cake. Exciting, even.

Holding the ladder firmly, she slowly started her ascent. The ropes shook too much for her liking, the material too rough and burning on her palms, but she climbed on, determined to seem as able as him. Almost at the top, she heard a low whistle which she took as a good sign.

Before long, his arms stretched out from the port, reaching for her. She was only too glad for them, because her skirt was proving to be an utmost nuisance. He held her under her arms and hoisted her inside, both of them almost falling over.

She steadied herself as he held her, refusing to look at him and knowing all too well that he was enjoying this. Since he didn't seem keen to be the first to let go, she took a step back herself, instead focusing her gaze on the surroundings. Empty hammocks everywhere, with a strong stench of rum and smoke filling the air. Her nose curled up in disgust.

"Not the kind of ship you're used to, I suppose," he whispered, registering her reaction.

"All I care about right now is getting to that crow nest of yours and getting back down. After which," she glared at him, nostrils flaring, "you're rowing me back to shore."

"Deal," he agreed, "But before we go anywhere, I need to go up on deck and get my brothers to come down, most specifically the person on watch."

"Meanwhile," he added, taking her hand and guiding her to the shadows under the stairs, "You'd be wise to wait quietly. If those men so much as catch a whiff of you on board, you're not the only one who's going to get into trouble."

With that, he left her. She barely heard him climb up; it was astounding how light footed and quick he was. Every step so self assured, much like his words.

Her mind, on the other hand, was in absolute chaos, diving into all the worst possible scenarios to come out of this. Her heart was pounding furiously against her chest and she stood frozen, afraid that it was loud enough to give her away. She had done a lot of reckless things in the past, but this...this was easily the most insane choice she had ever made.

Only a few hours ago, she had been in the safety and comfort of her father's office, running away in a moment of weakness, to the quiet confines of the beach. But one person, one despicable and insufferable being, had not only managed to ruin her peace of mind but had somehow convinced her that climbing on top of a pirate ship with crew members on board was a good option.

And for what? To get on top and see the island she sees every single day? What is so special about it? Rather than appreciate something as ordinary as that, she's more likely to throw him off the mast instead.

Wouldn't that be a spectacle.

Her breath hitched as she heard sounds from above. It seemed the boy was talking to someone, she couldn't make out the words, strain as she might. There was laughter and jeering, a few curse words shouted were audible, but nothing that assured her that the boy would keep his word.

How could she trust him? What was stopping him from telling his brothers about her? About the daughter of the man they all hated aboard their ship, waiting to be made sport of. She had been around enough pirates to know that if it wasn't for her father's name and business that profited them, they'd rather have his head on a spike. That was what they _really_ wanted. And here she was, a ripe opportunity who willingly flung herself among their midst. Second best to her father, but someone who would appease them all the same.

Throat dry, she gulped, waiting for someone to grab her from the dark corners and make her pay. The stairs creaked and her eyes shot up, waiting for her moment of reckoning. Whoever was climbing down was heavy and painfully slow. She could already smell the drink on him.

Before she knew it, the man, a burly middle-aged pirate with disheveled beard and unkempt hair, strode past her without as much as a glance in her direction. He made his way to one of the hammocks and slumped in, the air soon filling with his guttural snores.

After what felt like ages, a second one came and did the same. Then another.

She waited patiently, her heart relaxing a little. Perhaps she had underestimated the boy after all.

A soft, low whistle filled the air and she nearly jumped in relief. Taking one last lingering look around her, she crept up the stairs herself, holding her skirt high and treading as cautiously as she could, pausing every now and then to make sure she heard all three snores before taking another step further.

He was already peeking below anxiously by the time she reached up. If his signal was a source of relief, seeing his smug grin worked wonders. She had to remind herself that she hated him and that it was his nerve that had brought her here in the first place. If anyone was to blame, it was him. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting how dangerous this is for me, she thought. _If he can deal with this, so can I._

She ignored the support of his hand this time and climbed on top herself. "Took you long enough," she protested, eyebrows raised.

"Two of them were drunk and in the mood to relate stories, I had to act normal," he explained. "But good news is, they'll be sleeping all the way till dawn now."

"For your own sake, you better hope they do," she leaned close, whispering as vehemently as she could muster, making sure he understood she meant every damn word, "For if there's any threat to my escape, I'm taking you down with me."

He merely sighed at her warning, proceeding instead to brush his finger lightly on the tip of her nose,"If you're done setting terms, shall we go now?"

Marching ahead, he beckoned her over his shoulder, "This way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If any of my ship vocabulary sucks, it's because it does. I have no idea what ship parts even are. I had to look up some of the most basic things. Same with how crew schedules used to work. I just came up with the most convenient one for my story, which allowed my otp more of an alone time. So apologies if any of it seems inaccurate, but I hope the flow of the story doesn't suffer because of this technical aspect. 
> 
> *Even though English is not my first language, I'm stubborn when it comes to not getting my stories beta-ed. So ignore the grammatical, spelling errors if you see any.
> 
> *Still running with Eleanor and Vane both being in their early teens. Eleanor is already a potty mouth (but of course). Even though we have seen Max on the show row a skiff, I can't imagine it's something a young girl at Eleanor's current age can physically manage. So she's in a bit of a fix, relying solely on Charles, who a bit older and has the pirate muscle. [Besides, even canon Eleanor in 204 had people rowing the skiff for her].
> 
> *Dialogue isn't one of my stronger suits in writing, so I hope it's not too weird. I tried my best :)
> 
> *No, this is NOT going to end up in a titanic moment [fingers crossed] ;)  
> I just really think Vane and Eleanor used to sneak up on deck every once in a while and do stupid, reckless things like this. Challenge each other, get into trouble, part of how they eventually fell in love.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Revelations

She never had an eye for ships, nor much interest, but even she had to admit this one was spectacular. The deck was huge and strongly built, none of that rusty wood nor planks covering damaged holes. In the moonlight, the floor practically glistened, as did the quarter deck set higher than any she had seen before. Looking above, she could barely make out the top of the forestay, let alone the main mast. It towered above her menacingly, the sails curled around it, giving it clearer form. On the side was the rigging leading up to the top, more of that rough rope bound to bruise her again. The thought was less than inviting.

Her eyes followed the ropes gradually till they reached the top. There it was, her eyes widened. The _crow's nest_. Set higher than any other part, it bound the ship flag which flapped proudly above.

The boy walked up to the ropes, pausing, "A beauty, isn't she?"

"Yes," she found herself agreeing, "What's she called?"

"The _Ranger_ ," he responded with pride, "Easily one of the largest and fastest in Nassau."

"The name definitely suits her," she glanced around approvingly, "She looks formidable."

"You should see her in form, out at sea hunting," he exclaimed, eyes ablaze with an undeniable passion, "She's a force to be reckoned with alright. We've gained plunder from merchants merely surrendering to her size."

"How long have you been on her crew?" she asked, suddenly curious.

"About a year now. Got recruited as boatswain," he paused before tilting his head and adding, "For _now_."

"You have other plans?"

"Until she becomes mine entirely?" he swept a quick glance over the ship, "Absolutely."

She didn't blame him at all for this dream. As much as the crew's quarters had made her stomach turn, the Ranger overall was something else altogether, sparking even her awe and admiration. The excitement gleaming all too evidently in his eyes, it seemed as though he'd claimed this ship as his already, bound himself to it.

"If that ever happens, you'd do well not to sneak in more women," she reminded him pointedly, "Unless you want the crew making you walk the plank."

"They can try," his confident smirk returning, "Besides," he furrowed his forehead, "If any of them knocks out my men in a fight, I'll recruit her myself."

"That'd set every tongue in Nassau wagging," she let out a laugh, "Although I suppose there's some pleasure to be achieved from that. Doing something nobody expects you to do."

"Never cared much for what anyone thinks," he scoffed, "When I win my ship, I'll make my own rules. Whoever's fool enough to challenge me can deal with - as you said - the _consequences_."

"What, you're going to go to my father too now?" she replied cheekily, eyebrows raised. 

Before she knew it, he had walked up close and was standing in front of her. Bending down, his mouth inches from her ear, he whispered, every word vibrating in the air between them,

"The consequences of crossing _me_ are bloody and end quickly."

He leaned back, intense blue eyes piercing into hers, suddenly making her blood run cold.

"At sea there is only one way to make men understand. And I know how to make them understand."

She gulped, eyes roving over his features. Seeing him up so close, she found herself believing every single word he said. The dark scars on his face and chest, some healed, some fresh, the blunt honesty of his confession. There was no shame there, no regret. Only acceptance and resolve. She wondered how many times he had to resort to these consequences. She wondered if it had always been deserved. Did it excite him, please him? Could this boy, who had been grinning at her all this time, who protected her from his men, be that much of a monster?

As much as she tried to step back, she discovered she wasn't afraid of him. His grave expression suggested no threat, but only an offer of harsh reality to her. That her island, her father meant little to these men out at sea, that her rules didn't apply there. The only fear that could be instilled was one that walked hand in hand with death - for any cowardice, any treachery could get all of them killed. There was no room for lenience, no time for forgiveness.

She'd always assumed she had had a hard life, that she's suffered because of her mother's death, her father's estrangement, her having no real friends. Wallowing in that shell of self pity and rejection was only too convenient to fall back on. But looking at this boy, hardly a few years older, stronger and having witnessed more of the world than she had, had lived a harder life than she had, who'd been put to the hard choices of killing men, with no ties to anything or anybody but the sea, she realized that perhaps her life was a blessing.

He didn't scare her at all. She only looked at him with stunned realization. There was so much more she wanted to ask him, so many questions brewing in her head, but she held back. Perhaps he regretted sharing even this much with her. After all, they didn't know each other at all. She was a stranger to him and the kind of life he led. How could she possibly even begin to understand?

"I don't doubt it," she finally managed to utter, "I've seen men of your kind kill over the slightest thing. So much that should matter doesn't seem to matter at all."

"If someone makes you look weak, I'd say that matters most of all," he said, his eyes searching hers, "Does to me anyway."

"You kill men if they make you look weak?" she asked, bewildered.

"Yes. Or sometimes simply because they _are_ weak," he winked at her stepping back and gauging her reaction.

Perhaps there's a monster in him after all, she thought. The question she had been wondering, if he'd been forced to make such hard choices, seemed to have found an answer. Though she sensed there's perhaps more posturing in this revelation than absolute truth, she could see clearly that this man, this _boy_ , could never be made to take a life because it was demanded of him. No _this_ one, she decided, killed because he wanted to.

"I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're wondering," she voiced back, meeting his scrutiny with her natural boldness.

"I figured as much a long time ago," he returned with a smile, "Even before we met today."

His eyes were questioning, begging recognition of the event he spoke of. That time in the market place. She was still too annoyed and perplexed about that to give him the satisfaction of her recalling it. Keeping her expression as empty as possible, she shrugged,

"Well it wouldn't make sense if I went up there, " she pointed to the main mast hovering dangerously above, "with someone who scares me to death when my chances of falling and dying are pretty high already!"

His features turned skeptical and mischievous at once, conveying all too well that her blatant ignoring of their first meeting had not gone unnoticed. Thankfully, he refrained from broaching the subject again. He gave her a knowing look and turned to check the rigging, 

"You won't fall. Trust me."

His voice was soft, and something about him saying that, so calm and certain, was very comforting. Her nerves were already beginning to rile up again as she saw how far and impossible the climb was.

She knew if she walked away from this now, she would come to regret it later. No matter how trivial the reward, she wanted to be up there and see what the boy had boasted about. She wanted to see what was so special to him. Even if it didn't turn out to be all that, she could still make sure he realized that. She could tell him she'd seen better. But above all, it was something about him that stayed her. He exuded confidence and she knew she had to emulate it. The need to win against him still thrashed inside her, unsated. She had to prove herself just as fierce, just as strong.

So when he turned back, she strode up to him. Meeting his eyes, she grabbed the side of his belt and unbuckled his sword. With two swift slashes she tore the front and back of her skirt in half. While he stood there in stunned silence, she wrapped the dangling cloth around her thighs and secured it above her knee. Her leggings revealed her shapely calves beneath while what remained of her skirt formed a clumped, yet manageable heap, above.

"There," she sighed, handing him his sword, "Much better."

She knew she'd taken him by surprise and she liked it. He stood there, with lips slightly agape and eyes regarding her with a mix of shock and admiration. As he took back his sword, his mouth twitched into a wicked smile,

"I was going to say. Had mind to offer you some trousers from the wash but, " his eyes skimmed over her mess of a skirt, "I think this looks far more appealing."

His face beamed with amusement and she knew there was no getting rid of that grin now. It didn't bother her anymore. She's gotten what she wanted out of him and that pleased her.

"There is no fucking way I'm wearing anything from this ship," she exclaimed.

He shook his head, laughing, holding out the rope to her,

"Take the lead, Miss Guthrie."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor and Vane finally reach the crow's nest of the Ranger.

Saying the climb was a difficult feat would be an understatement. She clung to the rigging, hands burning with repetitive movements across the rough rope, bending her limbs with all the strength she could muster. Her legs were slender, unaccustomed to such exertion and she knew she would no doubt get aches the next day. As she gained considerable height, Eleanor began to feel an anxious flutter in her chest. Her hands froze and she closed her eyes, breath hitching at her throat.

Well this was a stupid fucking idea, she grimaced. _This is it. I'm going to die here_.

His voice jolted her from the nightmarish thoughts and for once she was relieved to discover how close he felt.

"Focus your eyes on top and don't look down. Count the ropes as you climb, that might help."

Her heart fit to bursting out of her chest with apprehension, she managed a small " _Alright_ ," as a response. Gulping, she egged herself higher.

It was taking ages, but to his credit he was patient, shouting words of encouragement whenever she faltered. Occasionally, his fingers would come to rest on her ankle which meant he was very close behind. In another circumstance she would find this proximity abhorring, yet now the feeling was strangely reassuring. She felt safe. Not once did she hear him jeer at the state of her skirt, which she was confident was looking like quite a sight from his angle. Even if he had dared to tease, she was in no state to remark in kind, so she was grateful he was being quieter than expected.

She lost her count of ropes and of the stops she'd made by the time her hand felt the wooden bearing of the crow's nest. Relief washed over as she gave her torso one final push, body collapsing to the side of the railing. A second passed and he was sitting right next to her, eyes a mixture of concern and, if she was not mistaken, pride.

"Here we are," he said, "Truly remarkable we reached before nightfall considering your pace."

Her chest was heaving after the exercise, face moist with dripping sweat. Too breathless to retort, she gave him an incredulous look, narrowing her eyes at him to convey what her mouth could not. She had half expected him to give her some masked credit for this accomplishment, but now she scoffed. How foolish to believe he'd be anything but his frustrating self once they were safe.

After a few brief moments of gaining back her strength, she managed to pull herself into a sitting position. The space was dauntingly high and small, the railing barely covering the back of her head. Her stomach squirmed again and she tried to focus her attention elsewhere. Her face must be pale, she was sure of it, and she dare not open her mouth until this feeling settled.

He was already on his feet, not at all disconcerted by the dangers that preoccupied her. If he was giving her time to collect herself, she was going to take it. Shifting her eyes to him, she half hoped to absorb some of his carefree spirit for this ordeal and perhaps some to distract herself from her turning insides.

She took him in slowly, noticing how the strong wind caught in his hair, making the long thick strands even more prominent. He made no effort to tame it, instead casting his gaze ahead, deeply inhaling the salt tinged air around. She traced his clenching jaw, following his sharp cheek bones to the slight aquiline slope of his nose, eyes resting on his lips which were slightly curled into a serene smile, much different from his usual smirk. Years of hard labor had made his form lean and muscular. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit he made a majestic sight, but for now she was content with noting every small detail, denying attraction in favor of curiosity. There was a necklace adorned on his neck, leather it seemed with pointed spikes, and a silver chain that went deeper into his shirt which was bellowing wildly owing to the wind. From where she sat, she noticed just a hint of a strangely shaped scar on the left side of his chest. Too deeply burned and shapely to be one received by accident.

A _brand_.

She had seen tattoos all over Nassau on just about every pirate but brands such as these were a rare sight. She'd only ever laid eyes on one up this close, the unnatural markings of her father's initials etched across Mr Scott's arm. It never ceased to make her feel guilty; everything about it had always felt so wrong and out of place.

Even seeing it on him, a stranger in all respects, inadvertently made her heart constrict. All of a sudden, the boy in front of her with his short temper and easy smirks seemed like a fucking mystery. Something wild from another world altogether. How did he get that mark? Did someone buy his freedom? How did he even get here to Nassau?

He must have noticed her staring for he cleared his throat pointedly.

"Care to join me?" he asked, without turning to look at her.

Eleanor jumped out of her reverie, slightly embarrassed at being caught. Her face grew warm and she felt heat rising to the tips of her ears. _Damn him_ , she thought. Here she was gawking at him like an idiot and wondering about him. Why on earth should she give a single fuck about where he came from? After all, she only needs him till she gets back. She'd be damned if she gave him reason to think she was taken with him! Given how his smile had already transformed into a knowing smirk, she'd never hear the end of it.

Rolling her eyes, she scrambled to her feet hurriedly - too hurriedly - and had to reach for the mast to keep balance, wrapping an arm around it. Without a word, he shifted position on the other side, his arm coming to cover hers, pinning her securely to the support. She looked at him sharply, trying her utmost to ignore the warmth that spread to the bare skin in contact with his, but he didn't remove it. Instead he gestured ahead,

"So tell me. Was it worth it?"

She followed where he was looking and for a second, she thought she'd stepped into one of the paintings in her father's parlor. The sun stood a fiery orb in the distance, almost receded into the waters below. The moon was on her other side, luminescent and pale against the darkening sky. The reds, oranges and yellows of sunset had given way to blends of pink and deep purple, the colors of approaching nightfall. It was a beautiful assortment of shades, and Eleanor stood speechless as she took it all in. She chanced a glance below, her hand instinctively grasping onto the mast harder, and saw the colors of the sky reflected in the water below. Waves clashed against the Ranger, streaked vermillion with the underlying blue. The sea and sky with their abrupt demarcation seeming like a meeting of two different worlds - the visible and the hidden. It was breathtakingly beautiful and she was transfixed before this magnificent sight. She'd seen sunsets on the beach before, but there was something about being this high above everything else that made this so much more powerful. It felt daring and bold and brought on a surging sense of invincibility.

No wonder he loves this, she thought. It is truly a sight to behold.

Even if she'd climbed on top of the Guthrie office on the island, she wouldn't be able to see as far off as the camps, but from here, Nassau was laid bare in front of her. She felt she could even make out the tiny window of her room if she squinted hard enough. Perhaps even search for Mr Scott's familiar figure in the veranda or the red haired man leaving the tavern with the heavy, bald one. Her gaze travelled to the streets which were beginning to light up with lanterns. Already the camps were growing less crowded as people made their way to the brothel for evening pleasantries and wilder pursuits. On either side of her, she saw her father's merchant ships and pirate ships anchored in the bay. Barely any stood as tall as the Ranger and she couldn't help but marvel at her favorable position. Above, she saw the blood red skull, sword and heart of it's flag flapping formidably against the warm, salt air, and she felt an odd sense of attachment as she clasped the mast harder, towering above everything else in sight. She could hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the wind whispering in her ear, and like the boy, she let it play with her golden hair.

The hues in the sky transitioned eventually, day transforming into night. Eleanor sighed, and even that slight sound felt like an intrusion to the peaceful moment. A smile had gathered on her lips while witnessing this spectacular vision and for however long it lasted, it made her forget why she was here and what had happened to her not so many hours ago. It was strangely empowering.

All this time, she could feel him watching her. The last thing she wanted, however, was to break this spell by speaking and acknowledging him. Eventually, the boy pressed his arm gently against hers. Turning to him, she knew that all her plans of insulting him and this place were betrayed by the look on her face. There was no point pretending.

"Didn't I tell you?" his smile was genuine.

Even if she had managed to lie about this place, he'd see through it in a heart beat. "You come here often?" she asked instead, refusing to offer any praise or confirmation if she could help it.

"Couple of times a week," he offered, "but I don't tire of it. Seems new every time."

She wanted to ask him if he'd ever brought anyone else up here with him, but held her tongue.

"It's quite...," she struggled for a neutral word to replace the insurmountable wonder she'd felt, "...something."

" _Something_?" he raised a skeptical brow, "If you aren't careful, I'd start to think you agree with me."

Her lips curled into a slight smile despite herself. It was unsettling to be with someone who she couldn't fool or subdue or even lie to, let alone physically need to get herself out of a situation, wasn't it? But to her dismay this adventure of hers was getting less irksome to bear by the minute and that was something she could simply not abide. Again, she reminded herself of why she was not in this moment safe on land and settled under the covers of her bed in her room. Because this boy, this _pirate_ , was too fucking stubborn and proud to leave her alone on that skiff.

"My end of the deal is complete," she tried her most serious tone, "It's time to fulfill your end of the bargain."

"Perhaps," he started, mirth rising in his eyes "But where's the joy in that?" he shrugged nonchalantly, voice turning more gravelly, "Ever heard of pirates having no honor?"

"Plenty," she replied vehemently, "Ever wondered what it felt like to be flung over a ship?"

"If you kill me now, the men will be under the rigging waiting for you before you even start climbing down," he flashed his teeth in a wicked smile.

"Let them wait," she took a step closer, poking her finger into the hollow of his chest, "They're too accustomed to dealing with a different Guthrie. Perhaps I can show them the difference."

He swayed closer, bridging the gap between them. Slowly, he removed her pressed finger, bringing it down to his side, "You truly aren't your father's daughter, are you?"

"Not in any sense that matters," she retorted, hand forming a fist against his palm, "Neither am I helpless without him. I can make certain you and your brothers pay for the inconvenience you've caused me."

"Inconvenience," he stressed the syllables, "You really believe that's the worst thing to suffer at the hands of a pirate?" He released her hand, "Strange. The way I see it any half wit would say you're lucky to be standing in one piece."

Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against the precarious railing, "Especially after stealing from me."

She glared at him, a huff escaping her lips, "Feel free to spread that lie far and wide once we reach shore. Let's see if anyone beside your conceited self would believe Richard Guthrie's daughter would steal from a _common_ , filthy pirate."

There. She'd finally hit it. _Common_. Something told her that might not sit well with him.

Arms unfolded, he placed them against the rail, staring at her. His jaw clenched repeatedly as he dug his hands into the wood, knuckles turning white.

"You think you're better than me, do you?" he questioned, his voice struggling to stay level.

She scoffed, "What do you think?", a challenge rising to her tone as well.

His nerve to speak to her like this. Of course she was nothing like this brute, this savage. His audacity to think she'd regard him as an equal was baffling.

There was a long pause as he deliberated, a scowl evident on his face. Then quietly he said,

"What do you suppose happens when you return to Mr Scott tonight?" he started, "That is, if you're lucky to still be alive till then," Pausing, he gave her a curious look, assessing, "Running off alone on the beach, disappearing for hours on end, that too with a _common, filthy_ pirate. The word can spread, you see. I only have to whisper of it in the right ears. You realize what'll happen to you after that, don't you?"

He was treading on dangerous grounds. She knew all too well where this empty threat was headed, what irking thought in her mind he meant to play with. It wasn't the first time it would happen, what he was implying. Last time when she had ran off, her father had refused her leave of her room for days. _Ungrateful_ , he had called her. _Improper_. Nassau was no place for a woman, much less a girl of her upbringing to go prancing about so frivolously, he said. Looking at him, she had felt accusations of disgrace dripping stronger than ever. The only person she saw for an entire week had been Mr Scott and her governess, even wrote repeated apologies begrudgingly to prove how ashamed she was for her conduct. As indifferent as he was to spending time with her, he was equally fond of swift punishment. It was days till she was finally permitted to bask in the sunlight again, to once again feel sand plucking at her toes. Like before, Mr Scott would be forced to chaperone her indeterminately and the illusion of independence she created for herself, would gradually crumble like so many times before.

She gulped. There was no boast in the boy's voice, no malice. He simply stated it like it was the most natural order of things in the world.

"Scott, your father. All names of prisons you've built for yourself. And when you look out your window to the sea you won't feel for days after this, you'll _know_ what I think."

Her mouth had turned dry. Swallowing hard she felt nothing but cracks in her throat. Worst of all, she could feel heat on her face again, vision rendered blurry by tears not yet spilled. Blinking, she pushed them aside, forcing composure to take over. She unclenched her fist that had twisted of its own accord, willing herself to say something. Anything.

"Don't presume you understand anything about my life," she managed to mutter through gritted teeth. Her voice was steady, there was that at least.

He was looking at her intently with those calm eyes, head tilted slightly and assessing her with such scrutiny that she felt the sudden urge to push him off the railing and be done with him.

"Then tell me why you're here," he said, "And what you were doing alone on that skiff."

There were so many versions of _fuck off_ coursing through her head, she couldn't decide which one would convey her message best. Certainly he must know how prying he was being? How utterly despicable? What right did he have to ask her these questions? She'd never told a soul and she never would. Least of all him.

"That is not for you to ask, nor am I obliged to tell you like it's part of our fucking bargain," she contented herself to say, forcing herself to turn around from him and sit down in her previous position.

Hoping silence would help keep some distance from him, she fixated her gaze on the mast with determination, refusing to glance in his direction. Perhaps he made a noncomittable sound at her response, she couldn't say. He certainly didn't press the matter further.

A few moments passed before either of them spoke. Eleanor didn't know what to do, what his plan was, and how soon she would get back. By now, Mr Scott would have likely searched the island twice, panicking like he had done so many times before, except this time...this time, she wasn't playing a game with him. This time she really was trapped, and the only way down and out of this place was one that made her insides squirm. The boy was right. What the fuck was she doing here? He had made an offer and she had accepted, and for what? To sate a challenge? Something as petty as that? She felt foolish. It would have been better luck had she stayed on the skiff and tried to row off herself.

"A few hours," he suddenly spoke.

Without meaning to, she turned to face him. He was sitting too, though his height kept his head well above the railing to keep watch. A broken piece of wood rolled lazily between his fingers as he fidgeted with it. His tone was matter of fact, a cold invitation to conversation, if that was what she desired.

"What happens in a few hours?" Nothing good, she assumed. She was on a pirate vessel after all.

"Next watch," he explained, "Someone'll be up to take my place. That's when I'll take you back."

She squinted her eyes at him questioningly, "Surely that means I'll be seen?"

"Can't say," he was not being helpful. The corners of his lips were twitching again as he toyed with her. He met her perplexed gaze, eyes still incandescent in the dark and piercing into her,

"You don't trust me?"

"No," she replied without hesitation.

He merely kept looking, brow arched and amusement glinting from every angle of his face.

The truth was she didn't know the answer to his question. She was still alive after all, wasn't she? The men on deck, he'd manipulated his way around them, making sure they were out of the way before bringing her here. She recalled the brief moment of relief that had washed over her as he'd pulled her into the ship, his calm face as he watched the stairs waiting for her to come up. The way he'd lent out his hand for support, the feel of it on her ankle as they'd climbed up these forsaken ropes. Even now, the intent calmness in his eyes told her there was nothing to be afraid of, yet his words offered a different story. If someone was going to come up for the next watch, she can't possibly be safe anymore.

"If this is your idea of a ruse to toy with me, it's not going to work," she told him pointedly.

"You'll find out yourself soon enough," he chuckled slightly.

"As long as you remember what I promised if I'm not returned to shore safely," she reminded him, "If something happens to me, you won't be setting foot in Nassau ever again."

"You don't tire of the same threats, do you?" he took out a coin from his trousers and began fiddling with it, seemingly engrossed.

"Reality of our situation, I prefer to call it," she responded, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them, "One such as yourself would be wise to consider."

He rolled his eyes at the coin and leaned back against the rail, "Rest," he said, "I'll wake you when it's time."

"I most certainly will not!" she exclaimed, "Not when I can fall off this nest any instant and most definitely not on these rotten boards."

"Suit yourself," he let out an exasperated sigh, "I'll be over here keeping watch."

With that, he turned his back to her, broad shoulders blocking out a good portion of the view. He took out his telescope and scanned the water, pausing intermittently as he did so.

It was quite clear the boy was occupying himself with something less of a handful than she was proving to be. Not that he was much of a talker. A person of few words, it seemed, who by some miracle had been made to converse more than regular because of her provoking. She couldn't help it, everything about him from his intense, pale blue eyes to his wicked smirk made her agitated. The smug air radiating from every crevice of his body didn't help either. Perhaps it was for the better that they stay silent for a while. It won't be long before the next horror of this adventure creeps up on her.

Stretching her neck muscles, Eleanor tried to get comfortable against the wooden boards. Her skirt was even more of a mess than before, reaching well mid-thigh. She adjusted the clump to cover the revealing flesh, securing the knot tighter around her knees. The night wind was strong and chilly and her thin stockings were no real barrier against it. Bending her knees closer to her chest, she wrapped her arm around her calves attempting to preserve what little warmth her body offered. She fixed her gaze on the ocean, the waves silvery and glimmering in the moonlight. They danced around the Ranger, gently caressing it and pulling away like some shy lover. She saw the hazy outlines of the other ships in the bay, shadows now in the cover of the night. Her eyes followed their high masts to the sky, now ladden with stars brighter than any she had ever seen. She had the sudden feeling of being suspended in mid air from the sky herself; by some invisible thread holding her from the dark water below. Immediately she realized how bizarre the notion was, smiling secretly nonetheless. Slowly, as she stared out from the crow's nest, the wooden boards began to feel less rough. The wind stroked at her hair and ears, mingling with the flaps of the Ranger flag above. Eleanor closed her eyes, surprised by tiredness. It had been a long climb and her legs were not used to such exertion. She longed to rest her eyes and mind, if only for a brief moment, assuring herself no harm could come of it if she could trust herself to wake up at any slight movement. Lulled by the soft sounds of the waves and gentle breeze, Eleanor relaxed and drifted off.

A second later, or perhaps several hours she had no way of knowing, her eyes snapped open. Disoriented, she blinked several times, momentarily perplexed by her surroundings.

_Still the Ranger, of course_ , she recalled in dismay.

As she gathered her bearings, she realized the previous chill from the wind was gone. She felt warm. Protected. Her head no longer rested on the uneven wood, but something softer. Her cheek grazed against fabric, the distinct smell of salt and leather reaching her nose. Whatever it was, moved slightly and she felt the surface tense under her. Raising her head ever so slightly, she discovered it was no object she was leaning against at all. Broad shoulders stood rigid against the board her head was rested on previously, arms brushing against hers. The boy was propped up with back straighter than ever, his gaze intent on some unknown object ahead, apparently refusing to glance back at her form intertwined with his. Her eyes gaped in horror to discover that legs, previously clasped tightly to her chest to ward off cold, were now folded to the side and latched firmly on his lap. She froze, willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Her mind crowded with questions, but nothing was felt more keenly than the sudden rise of heat on her cheeks, so hot she was sure the fabric of his shirt would catch fire by the contact alone. _Oh god_ , she thought in panic. What the fuck is she doing like this? Her body refused to move, lest the situation surmounted in uneasiness. Not that it was at all possible for it to grow worse. She shut her eyes close for a second, hoping, praying that this was not another chapter of this hellish nightmare. Hasn't she suffered enough indignatation at the hands of this boy? Perhaps if she feigned sleep, he would move aside of his own accord and then she can pretend it never happened. But even as this thought crossed her mind, the boy made a hoarse sound from his throat. An indication of being very aware of her state, yet unwilling or too unsettled himself to make the first move.

_Oh fuck it_ , she thought exasperated. What's the worse that could happen? Surely she can't expect herself to lie there in ignorance. Something had to be done about it, and if she had somehow gotten herself into this tangled mess, she was going to get herself out.

Resolved, she slowly lifted her head from his shoulder, only to discover his face was now inches from hers. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't realized when he'd turned his head, but now he was giving her a skeptical look, lips pursed and forehead furrowed. Before she could find something appropriate to say...

"Your doing, not mine," he muttered.

"I find that hard to believe," she looked back daringly.

His eyes shifted to their linked arms, his breath warm and tingling against her face. It was taking everything to not pull away from him completely. Eventually she would of course, but not by making it so transparent how perturbed she was by his proximity.

"You were swaying towards the rigging in your sleep," he offered impatiently, "So I moved next to you."

She looked back at him in disbelief, squinting eyes as if mocking every word. However, as she tilted her head towards the rigging, she discovered how close to it they were and had his body not been the barrier in between, she certainly could have swayed right onto deck of the _Ranger_.

"Could have woken me."

"Mm, could have," he moved in closer, "But this seemed far more tempting. And by the look on your face," he added, a throaty chuckle escaping, "Seems it's paid off too."

"Not at all, actually," she replied with confident air, "Seemed you went rather frigid yourself when I woke. Or was that part of the plan all along?"

She felt him tense again against her, eyes unflinchingly set on her face, determining his next response. If he was going to attempt to make her uncomfortable, it was not going to work, and she sensed he'd reached the same conclusion. His features softened, forehead clearing of the previous frown, and she saw the first traces of the typical smirk twisting on his lips. For a moment she thought he was going to try something - or perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks on her - his head tilted forward indiscernibly, eyes resting but for a second on her mouth before travelling up again, his weight shifting subtely towards her - but just like that, the moment brushed past her, like water rushing between her fingers. She swallowed, unsure what precisely was going on behind his stoic face, but unable to break eye contact.

"I certainly did not devise you coiling all around me, if that's what you mean," he stated simply, hot breath caressing her cheeks.

_Fucking hell._

Her legs were still crawled halfway on his lap. Instinctively, she untangled her clumped skirt from the smooth leather of his pants and, although her legs had gone quite numb, she forced them up from his thighs, placing them firmly on the floor. She stared back at him all this time, determined not to seem disheveled or taken aback by his subtle accusation.

His smirk widened at her movements, body refusing to make the slightest attempt to haul his body off her in any way. Huffing in exasperation, she finally managed to put some space between their arms, shifting to the side. It felt odd to feel the warmth slip away so suddenly, but better this than another second of being that unnervingly close to him. She made exaggerated moves to tidy her shirt, scraping off mere nothings from her shoulders as if trying to remove the remains of something repugnant; to cleanse his scent off her. Glancing up, she found him inspecting her with a amused brow, not offended in the slightest as her demeaning efforts had intended.

"Must have been the cold," she muttered. Of course it was the cold. Why else would she even dream about curling next to one such as him. Even in sleep, there were boundaries she would never cross. It was definitely the cold, she assured herself.

His arms, now free, stretched wide as he folded them behind his head, looking at her questioningly. The shapely contour of arm muscles bulged markedly through his shirt, and suddenly she discovered her mouth had gone very dry.

"As you say," he said searching her face, unconvinced.

"How long was I asleep?" she decided it best to steer the conversation in another direction, if only to stop his intense gaze from burning into hers. There was no doubt he would carry on implying on the whys and hows of her ending up in his arms, and as much as she could deny all of it, she was not going to allow him to think it was alright for him to tread on topics of such informality.

"A good few hours. Nearing midnight now," he replied.

Goodness. She _had_ been tired. All that crying, running, and climbing had finally caught up with her.

"And you stayed on watch this entire time?" she asked.

"Mostly," he offered, not caring to elaborate.

A curious glint reached his eyes and she could well imagine what he meant - his reply was threatening to take them back to the same unsettling situation she had found them in when she had woken up. Aware of the danger in that, she gave him in a stern look, hoping it was enough to make him rethink twice before finding his next words.

"Reckon it was dumb luck I happened to see you as you were about to fall head face into that opening," he started with an uncharacterically harmless expression, "So I changed position to keep watch from that end. Until that is, you decided to fall against me. Couldn't move much after that, let alone keep watch."

_Why couldn't he just leave this alone?_

"I'm well aware of what transpired and I've explained my reasoning," she fumed, "I must have swayed towards you instead and stayed there. Had you woken me I would have shifted and you could have finished your watch duty. But as it turns out, you are as much to blame as my unaware sleeping form. So if you're looking for gratitude, you're gravely mistaken."

"Gratitude?," he responded to her ferocious glare, "It was my pleasure. It's not every day a rich, bright offering such as yourself would deem a filthy pirate appropriate to lean on," to her frustration, his grin had returned and he was plucking at every tiny detail of this, if only to annoy her further.

"Besides," he continued, "had you fallen, I dare say the prospect of leaving the future of this place to your old bastard doesn't bode well for me at all."

"Don't call him that," she snapped back vehemently.

"That close to him, are you?" he eyed her skeptically, "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Whatever my relationship is to him in none of your concern, nor will it ever be," she retorted, the heat rising to her face again. If anything, that was surely going to give away how he kept managing to provoke her temper, "And the only prospect you should grow familiar with is the one at the gallows, where many a rich, bright _offerings_ would cheer to see you swing."

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Of that I have no doubt. But first they have to catch me." He shot her a wink.

"I've seen it," she said, refusing to back down, "There's no pity, no mercy. If it weren't for my father's name, your kind in Nassau would share the same fate. Disappear into oblivion until you finally find that noose around your neck."

"Your _father's_ wretched name is built upon the blood and toil of the pirates you're quick to condemn," he retorted, tone level except for a ferocious intensity brewing just beneath the surface, "It's the fear they instill into the world that makes their deaths such a spectacle for those too common to understand anything beyond their own privilege," he leaned forward, voice carried swiftly by the blowing wind, "Or too arrogant to swallow that they are not invincible."

_Privilege. Arrogance._ His voice seethed with revulsion.

"Nobody is invincible in the world we live in now," she stated simply, "Everyone has to fight."

"You'd be surprised to find how many believe otherwise," he voice shook slightly, as if containing a flood of emotions ready to burst forth, "And what would _you_ know of fighting."

She opened her mouth indignantly to snap back at him, tell him how exactly she has had to fucking fight for everything her whole life. For recognition, for attention, for love. How every dismissal had etched rejection into expectation, how every day was a constant struggle to prove her worth to the man she called father. To find one trickle of love her mother bestowed upon her in her father's eyes, a thing she longed for but what lay silent next to her mother's grave, lost forever. Tears threatened to burn behind her eyes, as much out of anger at his blind assumptions as the harsh reality of her life. But to confess would mean admitting this poisonous truth, to lay out bare to this stranger all her deepest vulnerablilities; things she had not even shared with Mr Scott. No, it won't do. Even if she had so desired, how could she possibly voice the idignities of her situation? Find words to convey the pain that clawed at her insides every hour of every day? It was not possible.

"Why, because men are the only ones entitled to know what it means to fight?" she asked boldly, "The ambitions of a girl can be a plight of their own, don't you think?"

His features softened instantly as he focused on her, gaze a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. A moment passed before he said anything, and she began to inwardly admonish herself for ever saying what she had said out loud, that too to _him_ of all people.

"Is that why I found you on the beach?" he eventually spoke, eyes fixed intently upon hers, "Ambitions your father would rather see you without?"

_Fuck_. The voices inside her started screaming. Panic gripped at her and for a moment, she was rendered speechless. _Of course_ he was going to deduce that from what she said, hitting the nail right on the head. And she herself had led him to it. Cursing her rashness and unsure if she was more furious with him or with herself, she nonetheless shot him a defiant glare.

He was not being malicious or rude, there was no provocation in his tone either. It seemed as though he genuinely cared about her response. For that realization alone, she tried to contain her outrage. There was no point in making matters worse by admitting how much this troubled her.

"Something along those lines," she admitted begrudgingly, "And you?" she started before he could press further on the subject, "Did you run away to Nassau for similar reasons?"

She was very conscious of his eyes still upon her, examining her as if seeing something anew, but she was glad that despite his temporary fascination, he took her bait nonetheless. Perhaps it was meant to ease her, for she was certain her countenance suggested a brimming irritation, barely tapped in control.

Giving her a strange look, he followed her obvious cue, "What makes you think I ran away?"

Before she could stop herself, she raised her arm and made vague circling motions with her finger, pointing to his chest.

It was his turn to freeze now. His hands that were fidgeting with the railing behind him stopped instantly, fingers twisting into a silent fist instead, pressing firmly against the hard wood. He stared back at her with a vacant expression, indiscernible if it wasn't for the subtle clenching of his jaw, the eventual gulp in his throat.

She knew it was her irritation at being caught that had flared her to do such a thing, but part of her wanted to take it back. Seconds beckoned to minutes and still he said nothing. It was the most quiet she had seen him and something about that was alarming. How long had it taken Mr Scott to tell her about his brand? Five years? Six? And even when he had, it had deeply unsettled him, making her guilt that more palpable. She had known all along what it was - slaves were hardly given the respect of anything more than objects, their masters and brands a label carelessly mentioned and tossed aside in conversation - but perhaps a part of her felt the burden of the knowledge would lighten if she heard the tale of it from the man himself, if he would somehow put a personal spin on the horror that would make it bearable for her tiny shoulders to carry, perhaps he would tell her it was no bother at all like it was to her and that it served him well. Useless, foolish hopes of a young girl. She had cursed herself a dozen times in later years for ever broaching subject with him. The mark was a barrier between their bond as it had always been, and no amount of talking about it was ever going to lift it permanently or make either of them feel better.

As much as she wanted to take the boy off guard, hurt him even, she knew this was not right. He had treaded on personal grounds and she had done far worse, opened an ugly gaping wound unlikely to ever heal in a slave's life. She of all people should know better. After Mr Scott, she had resolved to not make the same mistake. But here she stood, pointing blatantly to yet another brand, just because she was getting uncomfortable herself.

He was no longer looking at her, but staring intently towards the ocean, either refusing to acknowledge her question or choosing not to answer. His face was forlorn as if lost in some despairing memory.

Even if he could pretend to ignore her presence, she could no longer swallow his silence. She had broached subject after all, and if she couldn't take it back or apologize for her forwardness, she could at least try to make her intentions clear and make this bearable.

Her voice was gentle when she spoke, pausing to gather enough courage to address him again,

"Where... where did you get that?"

His head turned sharply to face hers, eyes deceptively calm as his mouth curled into a scowl. She could hear the slight sound of his shallow, sharp breaths as he took her in, outrage much like her own, reflected on every angle of his face. She had dared to ask the unmentionable. Was it really a wonder he was going to hate her for it? Despite the predicament, she steadily looked on, sincere and honest, hoping it was enough to appease him.

It must be, for his features softened, his eyes blinking as if registering her for the first time. A frown creased his forehead again as he studied her, his lips pursed together in concentration. We all have our secrets, she thought. Why should he not withhold his from me?

" _Oh shit_!" An unknown voice broke the silence, sending a jolt of panic through her.

Eleanor was startled to find someone peeking at them from the edge of the rigging, eyes moving between the two of them fervidly, as if in momentary disbelief.

" _Are you fucking kidding me?_ " the person looked on in shock, finally fixing on the boy for answers.

This one seemed really tall, gangly - with traces of a questionably designed stubble gracing his cheeks on both sides. He had the unexpected air of her governess, Eleanor thought wildly, a well bred elegance that somehow lent grace to even the foul words he had uttered, very unlike the gruff mutterings of her previous companion. If she hadn't seen him abreast on a pirate vessel, she doubted if she'd ever wager him for a pirate at all. But that is who he must be, and that did not bode well for her. One shout from him and the entire crew from the hull would join him in disposing her.

"Finally, Jack," her companion finally found his tongue, "Took you long enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my sense of the architecture of a crow's nest is off, please ignore it. I'm not a ship expert. Like at all. I have to look up basic words and pictures ;)  
> Of course Vane can trust Jack. Right?   
> Lol guess Anne wasn't the first woman on the Ranger after all ;) Let's see how well Jack takes this.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always considered Flint and Vane to have a large age difference (also accounted for by the actor's age difference), and since Flint gained his captaincy 15 years ago, I imagine Charles was quite young at that time. So while Flint is the young man Eleanor sees in her father's office, Vane is still a young boy.


End file.
